The Secret Life of Lula Darling

by Alex Dean

  Randy obliged. “No, not at all, what’s going on?” he said as he gently closed the door behind him.

  “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, what I’m about to say and all. But you know we’ve had quite a few break-ins in our building and in Hyde Park in general,” Hawthorne said.

  Randy nodded. “Okay, yeah, I’m aware of that,” he replied, perplexed.

  Hawthorne continued. “Whoever is doing it is doing it during the day, when people are gone, and mainly taking small stuff—jewelry, video games, any cash laying around, that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s terrible.”

  Hawthorne nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’m just saying, I noticed that you and Patty have that girl living here now and—”

  “Wait a minute, are you insinuating—”

  “Listen, I don’t mean any harm. I’m just making a point that these things just started happening. There’s a new person in the building, so as the association’s watch captain I’m kind of like trying to put two and two together here.”

  Randy could not believe what he was hearing. He and Hawthorne and their wives had often gone on double dates together, golfing at Cog Hill, even worked out occasionally at the East Bank Club on Kingsbury, and now, here he was being a total jerk.

  “Jack, you don’t know anything about that girl or what she’s been through, and for you to have the audacity to come over here accusing her of breaking into units and stealing property is, well, quite frankly, way out of line. She didn’t do it—okay?”

  Hawthorne nodded. “Like I said, I was only asking. No harm intended. You or Patty need anything, just let me know.”

  Randy took several steps backward inside his condo and shut the door as Hawthorne retreated across the hall.

  Chapter 11

  While in her room, Ariel guided me toward her dresser, and we both sat. “Lula, the first thing we need to do is to teach you some basic skills you’ll need to learn for school.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like reading, how to put sentences together, basic math, that sort of thing.”

  “What’s basic math?”

  “It’s a way to add and subtract numbers, multiply and divide. It’ll come in handy one day, especially whenever you start to make money.”

  I looked at her dumbfounded. “What’s money?”

  “It’s what we use to buy things. Like when we went to Zberry’s. We all need money to buy things like food and to have a place to live.”

  Ariel reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and two shiny round objects.

  “See, this is a fifty-dollar bill. My parents give me a monthly allowance. And these coins are what we call quarters.”

  I leaned forward and stared at the green piece of paper that Ariel held in front of me. On it was the picture of a bearded white man that looked like he could have been Mr. Hartley Mansfield himself. I quickly forced Ariel’s arm out of the way and took several steps back.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, seeing that brought back bad memories. Memories I’d just as soon forget.”

  Ariel tucked the paper and the two coins back into her pocket. She looked as if she was sorry for even showing them to me. Then she reached into one of the drawers of her dresser.

  “This is paper, and these are pencils. And this is a book. My dad bought it for me when I was younger. It’s illustrated with pictures and teaches basic English.”

  Ariel opened the book to its first page. I stared at the pictures, a bed of flowers that looked like yellow crocus, green fields, and brown horses. It reminded me of the days when I would sit on the steps of the big house and just gaze at the Gaines’s farm.

  “We better get started, Lula. If my mom doesn’t see us make any progress, I think she’s going to hire a tutor.”

  “A tutor?” I said.

  “Yeah. That’s a person that teaches you how to get better at something. Like reading, math or schoolwork.” Ariel chuckled. “And if she wants to get the lady I think she has in mind, you’ll be in for a long summer.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Her name is Miss Desjardin. She’s a huge, mean-looking lady that teaches at one of the high schools here in the city. My mom met her at one of the CPS conferences she attends each year. Miss Desjardin’s kids are always recognized for their excellent grade point averages. But, the problem is . . . she doesn’t exactly teach with a good bedside manner.”

  My smile went away, and I stared at Ariel, not sure what a lot of this meant. But I was sure about one thing. I didn’t want to meet this woman she had spoken badly of.

  Ariel started writing, and I moved closer to watch what she was doing.

  * * *

  Over the summer, each day in the afternoon, Ariel would read from various books. She had me repeat sentences, just as Mrs. Martha had done in Natchez.

  Ariel had introduced me to the numbering system. She taught me how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Taught me about modern technology, computers, and social media. She had also taught me some things about history that I did not know, a part of history that I had completely bypassed.

  She taught me who Martin Luther King Jr. was. She taught me about the Civil Rights Movement. She taught me about Abraham Lincoln and the Emancipation Proclamation, how slaves had helped to build the White House, and about both world wars. She also taught me about important contributions that Negroes, I mean, black people, had made to society, some of which had gone unrecognized. “And now, there’s the new National Museum of African American History and Culture,” she’d told me.

  After one of our daily lessons in the month of August, a day I’ll always remember, Ariel had shown me a map of the United States. I’d seen states and places that I never knew existed. I was amazed at how far away I was from Mississippi now. I’d even thought about going back to Natchez and looking for Mama.

  But one night, while sitting around the dinner table having supper, Ariel’s parents had told me that the only thing I’d most likely find was a treasure trove of broken dreams and bad memories. Still, I yearned to know what had ever become of Mama. That was the closure that I desperately needed.

  Chapter 12

  After a night of tossing and turning, I rose with nervous thoughts of the day that lay ahead. My first day of school. Shortly after rising, Ariel’s parents came into her room to give me their blessing. Her mother offered to drive us to school, but we assured her we’d rather walk instead. Minutes later, Ariel and I took turns in the bathroom, ate a quick meal, and headed outside into the thick and humid late-summer heat.

  As we left the building, Ariel raised her hand and waved at several children she apparently knew who lived across the street. Then she turned to me and said, “So, are you excited? This should be like a big deal for you.”

  I nodded. “I am. But I really don’t know what to expect.”

  Ariel beamed. “You’ll be okay, trust me. Everyone who ever went to high school was a freshman at one time. They just had to get used to it.”

  I trusted that what Ariel had told me was true. Because if it wasn’t, I didn’t think she would seem so happy about it. We journeyed along the sidewalk beneath a row of tall trees. Then we made a right turn to head east. Gazing forward, I squinted into the sun as it rose off in the distance. Then I glimpsed several stores and restaurants preparing to open.

  I was still amazed at how everything here looked. And no matter where I found myself in the future, no matter where it was I would call home, I would always remember this exact location as the place I had been found.

  We continued on, past a restaurant whose name I could not pronounce, though the name started with the letter V. I stared through its windows and was lost in the smell of what seemed like breakfast cooking when suddenly, I heard somebody call out in our direction.

  “Hey, Becky!” one of three girls yelled over gridlocked traffic from across Fifty-Third Street. One thing I’d learned from being a
round Ariel was that the word Becky was often used in a derogatory manner to describe White girls. Holding hands with their boyfriends, the girls snickered at Ariel and me as we passed the Hyde Park-Kenwood National Bank building on our way to school. Ariel had been one of the few White students enrolled at well-regarded Chicago Prep Academy, which, like most inner city schools nowadays, was predominantly black.

  Ignoring the heckling, we crossed diagonally at a street corner and began walking past a Chipotle on the corner.

  While walking at a steady pace, backpacks slung over our shoulders, I suddenly reached up and cupped both hands over my ears. Ever since coming onto this busy stretch of East Fifty-Third, the morning rush, the siren of a speeding ambulance, and most of all, the sound of nearby construction crews with their heavy machinery had me rattled.

  Several minutes later, a middle-aged man in a white van slowed curbside to ask us for directions. From the driver’s seat, he pointed to a sheet of paper, seemingly hoping that we’d get closer to take a look.

  I took several steps toward the van. Ariel quickly grabbed my hand, pulling me forward, and then began cautioning me about the perils of the streets.

  “You should never, ever go up to strangers like that, Lula. He might have tried to take you and done bad things to you. You really have to be on guard; everyone you meet won’t always have good intentions. It’s best to be safe, not sorry, all right?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Ever since we’d met, Ariel had taken on the role of being like a big sister to me, despite the fact that there was only one year that had separated us.

  We became close, and our friendship had really blossomed over the summer. Remarkably, I became well-adjusted in just a short amount of time, although I still had somber moments when I thought of Mama, wondering about her existence. Was she dead? Was she still out there in some parallel universe like the one I’d learned about while watching a science documentary on TV?

  September was here, and this was the start of a new school year. Ariel was entering her sophomore year at Chicago Prep. And obviously, it would be my first.

  According to Ariel’s mother, Chicago Prep was a relatively new charter high school that had been completed despite angry protests from parents and teachers who’d objected to public school closings in District 299.

  ‘The school’s student body consists of kids from a variety of racial and ethnic backgrounds,’ she’d told me.

  And with her political connections, Ariel’s mother had managed to do the impossible by enrolling me as a freshman without many questions being asked.

  Being a freshman, “the first day of school will be a strange and awkward experience,” Ariel had said before we left home. She added, “Especially since I won’t be in class with you to watch your back and protect you.”

  In my mind I was ready. My first-period class was Freshman English, and the teacher was named Janice Hutchins. I had been warned that Miss Hutchins would always begin a new semester by having each kid in the classroom introduce him- or herself, and then give some basic information about their background.

  At eight a.m. promptly, Miss Hutchins rose from her desk and stood at the front of the room to get everyone’s attention. “Good morning, everyone. Each one of you is going to start by stating your full name and telling us a little bit about yourself. Starting with Marty Booker here in the first row on my left, and then across to my right until we get to the next row. Go ahead, Marty.”

  “My name is Marty Booker. I’m from Hyde Park, and my goal is to graduate and hopefully get a scholarship to Duke University.”

  Afterward, each student in the same row stood up one by one, nervously giving their introductions. Next was a studious-looking boy with black-rimmed glasses and a gray hoodie. His name was David Holloway, and, after stating where he was from and what he hoped to accomplish, he took his seat next to mine.

  “Young lady, you’re up next,” ordered Miss Hutchins. I briefly hesitated, cleared my throat, and then rose nervously to say the first thing that came to mind. I immediately thought about the opportunity that I’d been given, to learn, to get an education. And graduate to hopefully go on and do well in life. Something I could have never imagined just a short time ago.

  I looked at Miss Hutchins as she nodded for me to begin. “Uh…my…my name is Lula Darling, I’m originally from Natchez, Mississippi, and was raised on the Mansfield Plantation, where we picked cotton and worked in the field.”

  The entire room exploded in laughter as all the kids chuckled, pointed and teased me regarding my words. I just stood, motionless and close to sobbing, in a temporary fog as the insults kept coming.

  “You’re in the wrong century, knuckle-bird!” said one student.

  “Hey, I need some new underwear, can you make me some?” cracked another as the kids continued to laugh.

  “Quiet down, that’s enough!” Miss Hutchins scolded as she whacked a large ruler on the top of her desk. “We don’t need that type of behavior in this classroom, and that is not how we treat our fellow students,” she said as she quickly sought to maintain order.

  “Lula, you may have a seat. Don’t allow that idiotic behavior to dampen your humble spirit. As for your attempt at humoring us on the first day of school, I’d like for you to stop by my desk after class. And as for you two class clowns—I’ll see you immediately after the period is over.”

  After a brief sigh, Hutchins’s words were the last thing I remembered as I prepared for second period. Ariel had been right all along, and I wished she could be here.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Chapter 13

  Late that evening Ariel and I returned home from an afternoon of shopping at Akira on Fifty-Third Street. Akira was a store Ariel had told me about, where she would shop for most of her jeans, t-shirts and all things chic.

  As we entered the condo, I could see her parents were busy cooking what looked like a special dinner. It smelled really good.

  After tossing our bags on the bed in her room, Ariel and I went into the kitchen and sat at the small round table. We watched her mother as she went to the cabinet and pulled out four white monogrammed plates, which she said were a wedding gift from her coworkers at the Chicago Board of Education.

  “You girls are just in time. Be careful, this is really hot,” said Ariel’s father as he set two large dishes of steamy food on the table, followed by a pan of golden-brown buttery muffins.

  I couldn’t help but to lean forward and stare at the food as it arrived.

  “Lula, you’re in for a real treat tonight. We’re having Patty’s family famous pot roast with potatoes, carrots, and string beans. Oh, and lest I forget—my own very special corn bread.”

  Ariel couldn’t help but to start laughing. “Dad, you’re not a chef, Mom does all the cooking,” she said.

  “Not true, kiddo. I use to do all the cooking when your mother was pregnant with you. I’ve just conceded that she’s better at it. Much better. I’d say akin to the difference between a stay-at-home dad and somebody with the talent of a Wolfgang Puck! Huge. Now, without further ado, let’s eat.”

  Ariel’s parents sat down, and we all joined hands and said a prayer before digging in. I was still getting used to eating like everyone else. Most of the time I barely ate anything. A lot of the stuff Ariel tried to get me to eat, I couldn’t stomach it, no matter how hard I tried. But this looked like real food. I happily sampled everything as the dishes were passed around.

  I was also thinking of what Ariel’s parents would say when she told them about the man who’d tried to lure me into his van on our way to school. Lesson learned. It was an honest mistake that wouldn’t happen again.

  “Lula, think you might be interested in trying out for any sports at school?” Ariel’s dad said as he cut tenderly into a piece of meat on his plate.

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll need to focus on my studies. It’s going to be a challenge for me. Besides, I’m not sure I’d be any good at playin
g sports.”

  He shrugged and smiled as he sipped from a can of Coors Light. “Well, don’t feel bad one bit. I wasn’t very good at sports. You’re looking at someone who went out for track in high school and was terrible at it. If I didn’t come in last during a race, I would be next to it. It was quite embarrassing!”

  Ariel and I giggled at this, at her dad’s brutally honest admission of being athletically challenged.

  He continued. “My dad used to take my brother and me camping and fishing when we were off during summer break. There were four acres of wooded area that extended out to an adjacent lake behind our home. We would fish all day and catch and fill a cooler with smallmouth bass. We’d have a blast right up until the time it got dark.”

  “Dad, you never told me about that. Wait, don’t tell me you were scared?” asked Ariel.

  “My dad, your grandfather, had a rough-and-ready all-terrain vehicle. We’d pack up our stuff and ride through the woods at night. The only light we had was from the two headlamps on the front of that ATV. And with the creepy sounds of the wild outdoors all around us, it was extremely spooky going through there, let me tell you.”

  “And after they got home, things were a lot different, girls,” said Ariel’s mom.

  “Oh, yeah. Once we got home, any lingering fear was quickly set aside. My dad would fire up the stove, and we’d have our catch of the day for dinner. After dinner, we’d sit around the fireplace and roast marshmallows until it was time for my brother and me to turn in.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Ariel and I agreed.

  “It was,” Ariel’s dad said with a happy grin. “The kind of memories you never forget.”

  Chapter 14

  THREE YEARS GONE